


Queer as Politics

by Xie



Category: Queer as Folk (US)
Genre: Humor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-06-05
Updated: 2010-06-05
Packaged: 2017-10-09 22:45:38
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,056
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/92404
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Xie/pseuds/Xie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Just as everyone predicted, the legalization of gay marriage destroyed every moral tradition on which America was founded. Brian Kinney is the President of the United States.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Queer as Politics

Lindsay took a deep breath, squared her shoulders, and gave a firm knock on Ted's office door. Then she walked in.

Ted looked up at her, and as soon as he saw the expression on her face, he paled. "Don't tell me."

Lindsay frowned. "Ted…."

"You're telling me."

She tried again. "Ted…"

Ted made a strangled noise. "What did Justin do?"

"The First Lady told the Secret Service…"

Ted opened a drawer and took out a bottle of extra-strength aspirin. "This is not going to be good."

Lindsay finally snapped. "Will you let me tell you what happened before I have to go get up in front of the White House press corps and answer questions about why the First Lady has refused to use the art studio built especially for him on the White House grounds to the substantial taxpayer cost of nearly three million dollars?"

Ted stared at her, his face a mask of despair. "I should never have given up drinking." He paused. "Or drugs."

Lindsay snorted. "That's right. That would make everything better, the White House Chief of Staff getting drunk and doing meth in the room next to the Oval Office."

Ted swallowed six aspirin, no water. "So, before these eat a hole the size of the President's ego in my stomach, explain to me why Justin is refusing to use his new studio, and what it has to do with the Secret Service? And, if you have the time, why the press even knows about it?"

"The First Lady issued a press release." Lindsay glanced at the papers in her hand. "Explaining that 'the Secret Service's obsessive need for security has made it impossible for me to continue painting in my studio. They've insisted on complete blackout curtains on every window. I cannot paint without light.'"

Ted took two more aspirin. "That doesn't sound like Justin."

Lindsay nodded. "I'm sure he marched around his room ranting while his Chief of Staff dutifully took notes and then issued this release."

Ted sighed. "He needs a Chief of Staff who can rein him in when he gets out of control."

Lindsay gave Ted a look. "Like Brian's?"

Ted stood up. "I have my methods. And right now, I think I'd better have a little talk with the President."

Lindsay frowned at Ted as he walked past her to the door. "Good luck. You'll need it."

______________________________

Justin shoved his hand through his hair. "I'm not… not… not… putting up with this. Not."

Daphne nodded. "Got it. Not."

"I can't paint with nothing but artificial light. And Brian promised me he'd talk to those psychotic control freaks at the Secret Service. It's bullet-proof glass! What the fuck do they think is going to happen, someone's going to sneak into the Rose Garden and launch a bomb? And if they do, do they think curtains are going to stop it?"

Daphne didn't say anything, and Justin frowned. "Daph?"

Daphne was perched cross-legged on the huge canopied bed, picking at her chipped toenail polish. "You've said that eight times now," she pointed out. "I've stopped listening."

Justin threw himself into a padded chair near the fire. "What the fuck am I going to do?" He balled his hand into a fist and hit the arm of the chair. "I've fucking got to get out of here." He glanced speculatively at Daphne. "Are you hungry?"

She shrugged. "I guess."

Justin smiled. "Let's order some food."

Daphne looked confused. But after the waiter rolled the cart, covered with a long white tablecloth, into the room and left, Justin grinned at her. He walked over to the cart, lifted the cloth, and waved his hand at the empty shelf beneath. "Voila."

"Oh. My. God," Daphne said, awe in her voice. "It's perfect. You're a genius."

Justin nodded. "I know."

Five minutes later, he'd pulled on an old hoodie, draped his messenger bag over his shoulder, and curled up on the bottom shelf. Daphne was busily piling up pillows under the comforter on the bed and dimming the lights. Justin grinned at her just before she dropped the tablecloth back down, and then she wheeled it out the door.

"The First Lady has a terrible headache," she told the Secret Service agent in the hall. "The smell of food is making him feel like throwing up, so I'm getting it out of here." She marched down the hall confidently. Being the First Lady's Chief of Staff had its perks, she thought. Not even the Secret Service back-talked you.

_________________________________________

Ted rapped softly on the inside door to the Oval Office, and then walked in. The President looked up from his laptop, one eyebrow raised.

"Mr. President…"

Brian sighed. "Well, what? Is it the Minority Leader again?"

Ted shook his head. "No, Senator Stockwell has been quiet since the latest polls showed the Straight Party is losing ground on the constitutional amendment." He hesitated. "It's the First Lady."

Brian pinched the bridge of his nose. "What now?"

Ted slipped Daphne's press release in front of him. Brian glanced at it, his teeth grinding away at his lower lip. "I'll take care of it."

"Well, sir, I understand, but that's what you said last week when…"

Brian glared at him. "I said I'd take care of it, and I will." He gestured imperiously at the door. "You can go now."

After he was alone, well, as alone as he ever was in this fishbowl known as the Oval Office, Brian put his head down on his desk. Then he slowly and repeatedly lifted it up and dropped it down again, hoping with each new impact of forehead against desk that some brilliant solution to the Justin problem would dislodge itself from his unconscious mind.

When that didn't happen, he stopped, and returned to a problem he could actually solve, the crisis in the Middle East.

_______________________________

Justin walked down the aisle of the National Gallery, the raised hood of his sweatshirt his only concession to security. No Secret Service, no press, no one but Daphne.

He smiled happily while he gazed at Jegher's "Hercules Fighting the Fury and the Discord." "I've missed this."

Daphne glanced at it, and shuddered. "What, big beefy guys throttling characters from Xena: Warrior Princess?"

He smacked her arm, but he didn't stop smiling. "Shut up. It's art."

She rolled her eyes. "Whatever. Are we going to eat soon?"

Justin tugged her hand and they went to the Terrace Café. Justin ate while gazing at the Calder mobile. Daphne sat with her back to it and frowned at Justin. "We're going to get our asses kicked for this."

Justin shrugged. "I'm the First Lady, what can anyone do to me?"

Daphne looked around, horrified. "Justin! Shut up! Someone will hear and then we're really fucked."

Justin was chewing on a mouthful of pasta, and didn't swallow before he informed her she was over-reacting.

They contemplated going to a movie before they went back, but Daphne's nerves had gotten the better of her. It was a little harder getting Justin into his suite than it had been getting him out of it, but Daphne had stashed the cart in some bushes, and brazenly pushed it into his bedroom. She told the agent the First Lady had called her and asked her to bring him some chicken soup and hot tea.

All of which would have been great if Brian hadn't been sitting on the bed, flipping through a copy of Hot Filthy Man Meat Magazine. "So," he said, glancing at them both, "Care to explain where the fuck you've been?"

Daphne paled, shook and stammered, "Ummm, no, ummm, I think I'd better go…" and ran out the door.

Justin stood looking at Brian, mutiny on his face. "Fuck off."

"Justin…"

Believing there was no defense like a good offense, Justin cut him off. "You promised me … swore to me … when you ran for President that nothing would change. You told me, in our bedroom in Pittsburgh, that I could paint and go on with my life just like always."

Brian threw down the magazine. "Jesus fuck, Justin, are you stupid or something? Did you actually believe you could become First Lady of the United States and nothing would change?"

Justin glared harder. "I thought you were telling me the truth." He gestured at Brian. "Clearly, I am, in fact, stupid."

Brian shoved his hand through his hair. "You can't do this again. You could be kidnapped, shot, held for ransom…"

"I was fine. Nothing happened." Justin picked up the magazine and looked at it. "He's hot. Let's invite him over."

Brian pinched the bridge of his nose, which was starting to have little marks from where his fingernails repeatedly dug into it. "I'll ask Ted to arrange it. If you promise me you'll never, ever go out without your agents again."

Justin tossed the magazine away. "He's not that hot."

Brian smashed his fist into the mattress. "Fine. If you promise me you won't try to evade your security for the next two weeks while I try to get this hate crimes bill passed, I'll tell the agents to ditch the blackout curtains."

A huge, glowing smile blossomed on Justin's face. It illuminated his eyes, his hair, his skin, and the air around him for several feet. He walked over to Brian, wrapped his arms around his neck, and gave him a kiss that made both their hearts pound. When he finally pulled away from Brian's mouth, his voice was breathless. "Deal. Thanks."

Brian looked at him with glassy eyes. "Exactly how grateful are you?"

Justin grinned, and started opening Brian's belt. "Extremely."

Just then, there was a knock at the door. Justin paused. "Don't answer it."

Brian tried, he really did. He ignored it while Justin opened his pants, dropped to his knees, and wrapped his fist around the base of his cock. But just as Justin's lips were about to close around the head, he groaned and stopped him. "I can't…."

Justin waved his hand at the door in defeat. "I know. You never could."

Brian opened the door without fastening his pants. "What the fuck is so important…"

Michael and Emmett were standing there, Ted behind them. Michael grinned. "Did we interrupt something?"

"Fuck you," Justin called from inside the room.

Brian frowned. "Someone had better have invaded us."

Emmett shook his head. "We have the draft of the State of the Union address, which you're giving tomorrow, so we thought we'd better, you know, see if you like it."

"I'm sure it will be fine," said Brian, trying to shut the door in their faces.

Ted got his arm in there before it closed. "Emmett and Michael wrote it. Is that a chance you're willing to take?"

Brian looked at him for a minute. "Good point." He opened the door, and let them in.

Justin got up off his knees, sighed, and headed out to his studio to have it out with those bitches from the Secret Service.

______________________________________

Three hours later, after Justin had yelled, ripped down curtains, painted a little, showered, shaved, and changed, he got Brian's tux out of the closet in their bedroom and went down to the Oval Office.

Debbie smiled at him from where she was reading a magazine at her desk. "Hey, Sunshine! I told him if he didn't get his ass upstairs he'd be late for the concert. But did he listen to me? He did not."

Justin grinned at the one person who still called him "Sunshine," other than Brian when he was in a particularly sarcastic mood. "He has fifteen minutes to get into this thing. And this fucking concert was his idea, so he'd better not have some lame excuse like nuclear war in Iran, the way he did last week."

Debbie waved vaguely at the Oval Office door, and went back to her magazine. Justin marched in, tux over his arm.

Brian was on the phone. His brow was deeply furrowed and he was gnawing on his lips in a way that indicated to Justin that whoever was on the other end of the line was asking for things that Brian had no intention of giving them but was prevented by protocol from rejecting.

Ted was sitting on the sofa in front of the desk, listening on the extension.

Justin dumped the tux over the back of the other sofa and pointed at his wrist. Although he wasn't wearing a watch, Brian got the idea, and glared at Ted.

Ted cut off whoever was speaking. "I'm sorry, Mr. Ambassador, but President Kinney has a meeting with the Secretary of Defense now. We'll have to resume these discussions tomorrow."

Brian read a few diplomatic courtesies off the index card Ted handed him, and disconnected the call. "I need a fucking drink." He looked at Justin. "And a blow job."

Ted paused at the door to his office. "That's fine, Bri, I mean, Mr. President, if you can do both in the next nine minutes, and get into your tuxedo at the same time." Then he left.

Brian narrowed his eyes at the closed door, then looked at Justin. "What's in nine minutes and how could it possibly be more important than you blowing me?"

Justin held out Brian's pants. "It's not, but it was all your fucking idea, so shut up and get dressed."

Brian stepped out of his suit pants and took the new pair from Justin. "Tonight being…"

Justin sighed. "Concert. By Presidential invitation. Ringing any bells?"

Brian's face brightened. "Is it…"

Justin cut him off. "What I can't figure out, Brian, is why you keep inviting her back. You told me you hated violin music. You made me promise never to play it for you again. And yet, this is the fifth time you've had her here to perform."

Brian smiled as he took his clean shirt from Justin's hand. "I know. It's true. I hate violin music. But there's something about Ling Lu. I just love that girl."

Justin rolled his eyes and threw Brian's jacket at him. "All I can say is, you're not the only one who needs a drink and his dick sucked. So don't make any plans for after the concert unless they involve the liquor cart and my cock in your mouth."

Brian pulled Justin to him, and seared his lips with a kiss. "Deal."

Justin hung off his neck for a minute, trying to regain his ability to think, speak, and use his lungs. "Good." Then he sighed dramatically. "Now, let's go hear some cats being tortured."

Brian looped his arm around Justin's neck and steered him out the door. One of the tall Secret Service agents murmured into the microphone strapped to her wrist, "Eagle is moving."

Justin snorted. "I'll never get used to them calling you that."

"You're just jealous," Brian said, letting his fingers work their way into Justin's shaggy hair as they walked down the hall towards the auditorium. "Picasso."

Justin smiled. "Fuck you, Eagle."

The agent at the entrance to the auditorium held the door open, and Brian gestured for Justin to enter first. "Promise me not to piss the Secret Service off for the next two weeks, and you can."

Justin smiled and murmured under the cover of the swelling strains of "Hail to the Chief" that filled the hall. "Please. As if I can't get up your ass anytime I want. Like, oh, I don't know, this morning." Brian ignored him, but Justin went on as they walked to their seats. "And as I recall, it didn't take anything more than one look and a tap on your shoulder."

They sat down in the front row. Justin politely applauded when Ling Lu took the stage, the lights glinting off her glasses as she shyly nodded to the audience, which then fell silent when she touched bow to strings.

Brian listened, a huge smile on his face. Justin made a gesture as if he were brushing his hair back to check that his ear buds were in place, and then slid his hand inside his jacket and discreetly hit "play" on his iPod.

____________________________________________

 

The next morning, Brian was sitting at his desk when Ted walked in. Ted never walked in with good news, even when there _was_ good news, which there hadn't been for a while, so Brian pretended he wasn't there.

Ted just switched on MSNBC on one of the six plasma televisions on the far wall. "Stockwell's holding a press conference."

Brian sighed, and looked up.

The Minority Leader was looking earnestly at the cameras. "And that's not all, Americans. President Kinney has also taken away the most treasured and coveted assignment of the Secret Service, that of protecting the President and First Lady, and created two all-lesbian security details. This army of femi-nazis has supplanted agents – good and loyal men and woman all – who have served for years, and even decades."

Brian tapped his pen on the desk, frowning. "I told Justin that was a bad idea, but he said if he couldn't have a detail made up of hot fuckable guys, neither could I." He heaved a dramatic sigh. "It seemed fair at the time. I have to stop listening to Justin when I have my dick up his ass."

Ted ignored him and switched to CNN, which was also showing the press conference.

Stockwell was looking down at the podium, but then lifted his eyes to the cameras once more. "And by rights, should the so-called 'First Lady' even have a security detail? Despite the fact that homosexual marriage has been legal for more than two years now, President Kinney and Justin Taylor have not sought the blessing of church or state on their union. Although I despise and oppose special rights for homosexuals with every fiber of my being, and don't recognize the legality or sanctity of homosexual marriage, they can't even be bothered to get married. In fact, President Kinney has more than once referred to marriage as a 'doomsday machine'…"

Ted shut it off. "It just goes on from there."

"Well," said Brian, "I did say that. In fact, it's one of the things that got me elected."

Ted nodded. "Three years ago. But things are different now. The right wing is fighting back, and with the rise of the Straight Party, and the backlash against your election…"

Brian stood up, shoving his hand through his hair. "I know all this. What the fuck am I supposed to do about it?" He got himself a drink from the bar over by the televisions. "If the country decides they were wrong to put the Gays into power, they'll be able to throw us out in just a little under two years." He put his arm on Ted's shoulder, and gave him his most telegenic smile. "Until then, Theodore, let's party." And he knocked back the entire glass of scotch.

Just then, Debbie stuck her head in the door. "Michael and Em are here, boys."

Brian gave a feral grin. "Ah, just the two useless assholes I wanted to see."

They walked into the room, and Brian sat down at his desk. He looked at them, and finally thumped his hand on the pile of papers in front of him. "What is this piece of shit speech you expect me to give tonight? I couldn't even read it without falling asleep."

Michael frowned. "It's an in-depth analysis of the state of the nation at home, and our current situation overseas."

Emmett nodded. "You know, the State of the Union address. It's in the Constitution. I thought you might have read that at some point."

Brian glared. "Does the Constitution say the State of the Union address has to be the most boring, incomprehensible, stultifyingly dull speech in the history of the nation?"

"Brian…" Michael looked hurt.

"Mikey, I hired you as Communications Director specifically on the strength of your Rage storylines. I'm beginning to think you let Justin write those after all, because frankly, your speeches suck."

Emmett laughed, and Brian turned on him next. "And you, Emmett… I counted on our own Queer Guy to add a splash of that special something to my public image, that _soupçon_ of fabulousness." He slapped the papers with his palm again. "Let me say there is nothing, nothing, remotely fabulous about this speech." He shook his head. "In fact, the section on our foreign relations is so dull I almost thought Ben had written it."

Michael frowned. "He did."

Brian looked sorrowful. "Mikey, Mikey…"

"Hey!" Michael protested. "He's the Secretary of State! What did you expect?"

He sighed. "I expected something I wouldn't be ashamed to stand before the people of this great nation and read. The question is, am I going to get that?" He glanced at the clock. "You have four and a half hours, boys. Dazzle me."

Michael and Emmett staggered out of the room. Ted stayed behind. "They can't write an entire new State of the Union address in four and a half hours, Bri, I mean, Mr. President."

Brian shrugged. "They'll die trying, and that's the important thing."

__________________________

Two hours later, Ted came in yet again. Brian groaned. "What now, Theodore? Can't you see I have work to do?"

Ted nodded. "You're the President of the United States. I assume you generally have a fairly heavy workload. But Stockwell is here, and he wants to talk to you."

Brian didn't look up. "Tell him to take a number like everybody else."

Ted took a deep breath. "He said you'll want to talk to him. Said it has something to do with Carl."

Brian finally glanced at him. "Horvath? What the fuck does he have to say to me about Horvath? Something going wrong at the FBI that I don't know about?"

Ted shook his head. "No, as far as I'm aware, Carl's done a bang up job as Director."

"Damn right he has," yelled Debbie from the outer office.

Ted walked over and shut the door. He resumed talking in a low voice. "He said he had something that would potentially ruin Carl, and hurt you."

Brian looked at the pile of paperwork in front of him, then shrugged. "Let him in."

Ted opened the door again. "Cynthia, could you bring Senator Stockwell up?"

Cynthia frowned. "Do I have to?"

Ted nodded sympathetically. "I'm afraid so."

A few minutes later, she was back. "Minority Leader Stockwell, sir," she said to Brian, rolling her eyes behind Stockwell's back.

He stopped halfway to the desk. "Mr. President."

Brian templed his fingers, and looked him up, and then down. "Well, Jim. What can I do for you?"

Stockwell's lips whitened and his face flushed, but he controlled himself. "I have some information that might be of interest to you."

Brian raised a brow. "And what would that be… Jim?"

"That would be a certain arrest of you, your Communications Director Michael Novotny-Bruckner, and your Chief of Staff, several years ago, in Pittsburgh." He smiled. "Investigated and later covered up by then-Detective Carl Horvath, the current head of the Federal Bureau of Investigation."

Ted and Brian didn't react. Not even Debbie, ear pressed to the door, reacted. Brian finally just shrugged. "Imagine that. A police officer accused of covering up a crime – on your watch, I might add. Corruption on the police force. Sound familiar, Jim?"

Stockwell laughed. "My case was dismissed for lack of evidence, and it's ancient history either way." Protocol prevented him from taking a seat, but he took a few steps closer to the desk. Brian just looked amused, but didn't say anything.

Stockwell's eyes narrowed, and he went on. "When the good people of Pennsylvania elected me to restore family values and decency to Capitol Hill, they were fully aware of the baseless nature of the allegations regarding the tragic death of Jason Kemp and suicide of Kenneth Reichert." He smiled, his face like a skull's head. "I doubt Director Horvath will be able to say the same. And it's not the kind of publicity you want right now, is it, with all the problems with the First Lady in the press?"

Ted spoke for the first time. "Why are you telling us this?"

He smiled again. "I want you to drop this hate crimes bill. It's discriminatory against straights, and frankly, banning high school football and baseball on the basis of one incident in your past is…"

Brian stood up. "This meeting is over, and frankly, Jim, I think you're being overly optimistic about the skeletons in your closet. But by all means, start a media war, and may the best man – by which I mean, of course, me – win."

Stockwell smirked. "You've already done your worst to me, Kinney. I have nothing to lose." He turned to go, then paused at the door. "But you do."

Brian watched him leave, then counted to three. Debbie came in and shut the door behind her. "Fuck."

Brian threw himself down on the sofa, and put an arm over his face. "Exactly. And may I add, fuck."

Justin walked in, Cynthia on his heels. He looked around the room. "What did I do?"

Ted shook his head. "It's not you… this time. It's Stockwell."

"What does that homophobic prick want now?"

Debbie looked at him. "Carl's ass."

Justin looked confused. "Why would Stockwell want Carl's ass, no offense?"

Brian didn't take the arm off his face. "He says me, Ted, and Mikey were arrested years ago in the Pitts and Carl covered it up."

Justin frowned. "Well, were you? Did he?"

"Yes," chorused Ted, Debbie, and Brian.

"Shit," said Justin.

"God, I love my job," said Cynthia, as she dropped into a chair.

_______________________________________

Lindsay sank into the tub full of hot, frothy bubbles. Her long blonde hair was tied on the top of her head, and every aching, screaming muscle in her body welcomed the swirling hot water that covered her up to her chin.

Just then she heard a loud crash from the living room, followed by the sound of Jenny Rebecca crying, Gus denying responsibility, and Melanie ordering both of them to their rooms.

Lindsay sank deeper in the water.

Two minutes later, Melanie came in. "Your son and your daughter just broke that thing on the dining room table."

Lindsay regarded her from behind a wall of foam. "I hated that thing."

Melanie nodded. "So did I."

Just then, Lindsay's pager went off from the pocket of her pants, lying on the floor next to the tub. Melanie sighed, and dug it out. "POTUS."

Lindsay ducked completely under the water, only the knot of hair on top of her head showing over the bubbles.

Melanie waited, and finally Lindsay popped back up, having held her breath as long as possible. "I hate my job."

"You hate your job? All you do is lie to reporters all day long. I've spent the last two years overseeing war crimes prosecution of the entire Bush administration."

Lindsay sighed. "I know. You've been a great Attorney General, Mel. I didn't mean to imply that my job was harder than yours." She wiped the suds off her face. "I just meant to imply that I hate mine more than you hate yours."

Melanie got a towel, and wrapped it around Lindsay as she climbed out of the tub. "Better see what disaster Justin's gotten the country involved in now."

Mel was in their bedroom when Lindsay came in, still wearing only a towel. "Well?"

Lindsay sat down. "It wasn't Justin." She sighed. "This time."

Melanie frowned, and listened to the story.

_________________________________________

Meanwhile, back in Pittsburgh, Hunter was sitting across from a skinny young guy with dirty hair and a bad case of meth-related acne. "What is it you needed to talk to me about in private, Joe?"

The hustler – well, hopefully ex-hustler, since he was part of a group Hunter ran at the GLC helping HIV-positive youth get off the streets – shifted in his seat. "I've really gotten a lot out of this group, and I… " he hesitated. "I was really inspired when President Kinney was elected, but I sort of got discouraged again when the Straight Party – no offense, man, I mean, I know you're straight but…"

Hunter shook his head. "Not a problem, dude."

Joe got up and walked to the window, but the only view was of a ventilation well. He turned back to Hunter. "The thing is, I know something about Stockwell. And I don't know who to tell."

Hunter frowned. "You know something? Like what?"

The boy looked scared, but he squared his shoulders. "I saw him kill Kenneth Reichert."

____________________________________________

Three hours later, Hunter was lying in bed with his girlfriend, Molly Taylor, who was stroking his hair.

She glanced down at him. "Do you believe this guy?"

Hunter sighed. "I didn't want to. But he says he has the weapon Stockwell used, with Reichert's blood and Stockwell's prints on it." He groaned. "I've gotta tell Ben and Michael."

She shook her head. "You can't tell them. Every email, every phone call, it's all recorded."

"Then what the fuck…"

Molly's freckled face brightened. "Don't worry, Hunter. I know what to do."

________________________________________

Justin was staring at his Blackberry, a confused and slightly pissed off expression on his face. "wtf?" he texted back to his sister. "no way."

"911 crisis," she responded. "hurry."

Justin shoved his hand through his hair. Was it their mother? Then why wouldn't Molly just say so? Craig? Had he had Molly arrested now, too? Fuck, why now, when he'd promised Brian?

Still, he thought, he'd promised Molly first. And the thought of being in the Pitts, being home, without the endless political bullshit… Justin took a deep breath and punched in Daphne's number on his speed dial.

_____________________________________

Brian was beaming at the press as they crowded around him. "Yes, I'm very pleased with the reaction to the Address tonight, but the important thing is that the nation is on the road to regaining its stature on the world stage, a generation of war criminals is being brought to justice, and with my new hate crimes bill on the brink of passing…"

"Mr. President!" shouted a voice from the back of the crowd. "Minority Leader Stockwell says that the hate crimes bill discriminates against straight Americans. Do you…"

Brian looked sad. "Senator Stockwell has a long history of anti-gay legislation and a personal record of opposing me on many issues related to the preservation of our civil liberties." He paused, eyes dark with concern. The press corps, in a body, leaned forward, watching Brian's white teeth – thank god, thought Lindsay, watching from the sidelines, he'd listened to her about that laser dentistry – catch his full, red lower lip. "The hate crimes bill will make all Americans, of any color, sexual orientation, race, or creed, both safer and freer." He flashed them a smile, and they all sighed and relaxed. "And isn't that the American way?"

Lindsay smiled, and strode forward. "That's all for tonight, everyone, thank you…"

When they got into the West Wing, Lindsay beamed at him. "I don't know whose ass you pulled that speech out of, but it was perfect."

Brian shrugged. "Just a little something I scrawled on the back of a napkin the other day."

Lindsay looked at him. "You had that written all along." She laughed. "You were torturing Michael and Emmett."

Brian didn't say anything, just gave an enigmatic smile. Which rapidly faded when Lindsay touched his arm and asked, "But where was the First Lady tonight? Wasn't he supposed to be there?"

Brian just looked at her. "He wasn't there?"

"No," Lindsay said, slowly. "He wasn't."

Brian grabbed her arm and dragged her into the Oval Office. "I have a bad, bad feeling."

Lindsay did, too. She got out her cell phone and dialed Daphne's number. Voice mail.

Brian tried Justin's. More voice mail. "Fuck. Fuck. He promised." He sat down at his desk.

Lindsay bit her lip. "Maybe no one will notice."

Brian groaned and put his head down on his desk. His voice was muffled. "If you don't want to see me beat my brains out on this thing, you should leave."

Lindsay sighed. "That won't help."

Brian sat up and looked at her. "Nothing helps, Lindsay. I should have let him stay in Pittsburgh. It's what he wanted. But who the hell really wants to be in Pittsburgh? And what kind of partner would I be if I let him?"

"I'm sure he has a good reason…"

"Justin always has a good reason for every fucking thing he does." Brian covered his eyes with his hands. "That's the thing I hate most about him."

Lindsay walked over and put her hand on his shoulder, but didn't say anything. She was willing to spin political decisions to confuse the press, to look America in the eye and lie to them for their own good, to help Brian get out of the media spotlight long enough to go to an orgy, but trying to figure out Brian and Justin's relationship? She'd given up on that a long, long time ago.

____________________________________________

Daphne sat across from Hunter, Justin, and the strange kid with the zits, frowning. This story was just too fucking weird, she thought to herself. But being Chief of Staff to the First Lady of the United States had taught her to keep thoughts like that to herself.

Justin stood up and pushed his hand through his hair. "That's too fucking weird to be true." He started pacing. "I mean, I always thought Reichert was secretly in love with Stockwell, but what you're saying is…"

Hunter interrupted Justin's queen-out. "He has proof."

Justin looked at him. "What kind of proof?"

The boy answered. "I have the baseball bat Stockwell used to knock Reichert out. Covered with Reichert's blood and Stockwell's prints."

Justin shook his head. "Reichert shot himself. What bat?"

"No." The kid's voice was firm. "Stockwell knocked him out with a bat to the head, then held the gun with Reichert's hand and shot him on the same spot."

Justin gestured dramatically, shaking his head. "Wouldn't they have found that out in the autopsy?"

Daphne snorted, and everyone looked at her. "The Pittsburgh PD autopsy of one of their own, ordered by the man who may have killed him, who just happened to be the police chief and odds-on favorite to be the next mayor?"

Justin stared at her, and dropped with a thud into his chair. "Fuck. You're right."

Daphne nodded. "Of course I am."

Justin looked from Hunter's face, to the kid's. "Where's the bat?"

_____________________________________________

Late that night, Justin walked into the bedroom. Brian was asleep, but the minute Justin's black duffle bag hit the floor, he opened his eyes and sat up. "I'm going to fucking kill you. And don't think the Secret Service will stop me. Hell, they'll hold you down and help me hide the body."

"Shut up." Justin walked to the edge of the bed. "Stockwell killed Kenneth Reichert."

Brian stared at him, then swiped the sleep out of his eyes. "Reichert killed himself." Because of me, Brian thought, but didn't say.

Justin gently touched Brian's cheek. "No, he didn't. He was at his house with a hustler when Stockwell came by, a little while before Carl did. That hustler hid in the garage, and he heard, and saw, everything."

He sat next to Brian, who was staring at him. "Stockwell told Reichert he wasn't going to let him bring him down. Reichert said he was going to confess, and Stockwell couldn't stop him. Stockwell grabbed a baseball bat, hit him on the head, then got Reichert's service revolver, and shot him in the exact spot the bat landed."

Brian sat there for a minute, trying to absorb what Justin had told him. "How the fuck do you know this… Fuck. The hustler." He covered his face. "It's always the hustler."

Justin nodded. "He came to Hunter." He took a breath. "He still had the bat."

Brian pulled his hands away. "What?"

Justin nodded and stood up. He picked up his bag, opened it, and pulled out a bundle wrapped in plastic. "And now we have the bat. Covered in Reichert's blood and, presumably, Minority Leader Jim Stockwell's fingerprints."

"Have I ever told you," said Brian, "how much I love you?"

Justin put the bundle in his bag and walked back to the bed. He straddled Brian's legs and put one hand on either side of his face. "Yes. But not frequently enough, really. So feel free to say it over and over again while I pound you into the mattress."

Brian happily obliged.

Leda, the agent on duty outside the door, ignored the shouts from the President and First Lady. It wasn't anything she didn't hear pretty much every time they were in there for more than two minutes.

_________________________________________

Stockwell smiled when his aide told him that the President's Chief of Staff had asked him to come to the Oval Office after lunch. He'd known it was just a matter of time before Brian Kinney realized he'd finally met his match.

Revenge, he thought, was very, very sweet.

When he walked into the office, however, he was surprised to see they weren't alone. "What's going on here?"

Carl Horvath, his wife Debbie, and the First Lady were all standing behind the President's desk. He was seated at his chair, and he gave the exact smile Stockwell most hated to see on his face. "Jim. Thanks for stopping by. Have a seat."

Stockwell wanted to say, "Thanks, I'll stand," but his knees felt a little strange, so he sat down.

Brian stood up. "You know Director Horvath and his lovely wife Debbie, of course?"

Stockwell nodded. Brian smiled. "And naturally, my lovely spouse…" Justin made a noise in his throat… "I'm sorry, my lovely non-spouse, Justin."

Stockwell realized there were other people in the room. People who looked like federal agents. He felt himself start to sweat.

Brian pretended not to notice. "The First Lady has a very irritating habit of seeking justice. I'm sure you're familiar with it?"

Stockwell didn't answer, and Brian smiled blandly and continued. "Of course you are. Well, he snuck off to Pittsburgh and did a little snooping around, and you'll never guess what he found."

Justin obligingly pulled out a baseball bat and put it in on the desk.

Stockwell looked confused. "Of course," said Brian, "this isn't the actual bat Justin found. No, that one is safely in the hands of an independent crime lab, who just gave Director Horvath the results – certified by a team of six forensic scientists who all swore under oath that they are heterosexuals and lifelong Republicans – that indicate that this is the weapon that killed Kenneth Reichert, and that it's covered with your fingerprints."

Jim Stockwell didn't move, blink, or swallow. He was paralyzed. He barely heard Debbie laughing, her voice a cackle in his ears. But he did hear Carl Horvath, who he hated almost but not quite as much as he hated the President and First Lady, snarl, "Arrest him, boys. I mean, girls."

Four federal agents surrounded him, and Stockwell shook his head. "If you arrest me, this will all come out. You'll still be ruined."

Brian smiled. "I knew you'd see it my way." He nodded at the four friends of Melanie and Lindsay who were standing around Stockwell. "So you'll announce your support for the hate crimes bill, and resign?"

"Resign?" Stockwell's mouth moved. "Resign… I…"

Brian nodded. "Yes. After all, you've been under a lot of _stress_ lately, wouldn't you say?"

__________________________________________________

Justin was sprawled out on the bed, Brian across his back. "That was great."

"Mmmghoighh," Brian agreed, mouth buried in Justin's hair.

Justin wriggled his toes. "I'm sorry I broke my promise…"

Brian lifted his face. "It was for a good cause."

Justin sighed blissfully as he felt Brian's dick, resting in the crack of his ass, start to get hard again. "It doesn't seem right that Stockwell's going to get off, though. I mean," he shivered as Brian's lips started to nibble at his ear while his hand reached out for the condoms on the bedside table, "getting away with murder? That sucks."

Brian ripped open the condom package and shook his head while he put it on. "Oh, he won't be getting away with anything. As soon as he announces his support for the bill and resigns, we'll arrest him."

Justin gasped as Brian's fingers started to lube his ass. "But… it'll all come out about Carl…"

Brian put the head of his cock at Justin's hole. "Not a … unhhh… problem." He had thrust half-way in.

Justin spread his legs a little further apart, and gasped as the head of Brian's cock stroked across his prostate. "What…do….you… mean?"

Brian buried himself to his balls, and held still. "It was a fucking speeding ticket, and Mikey paid it. Some cover-up."

"But…." Justin groaned and stopped talking as Brian resumed thrusting.

They were standing in the shower after, lazily soaping each other's backs, chests, and shoulders. Justin looked up at Brian through the steam. "Then why all the drama?"

Brian shrugged. "If you'd hung around and waited to hear what Carl had to say, you'd have known."

Justin frowned and stopped soaping Brian's abdominal muscles. "So it was all for nothing?"

Brian took the soap away from him, kissed him, and turned him around to face the shower wall. "No. We removed the major obstacle in the way of the hate crimes bill, impeded the resurgence of the right wing in this country, and brought an evildoer to justice." He kissed Justin's shoulder, then plucked a condom from the condom holder embedded in the tile wall. "Just another day in the life of Rage and JT."

Justin smiled happily as Brian lubed and then fucked his ass. He let his head fall back on Brian's shoulder, and sighed. "What does that make it now, ten thousand blow jobs you owe me?"

Brian thrust deeply into him, and grunted against his ear, "Sounds about right."


End file.
